Tourism and Singing

First there was this dubious sounding appeal. (link via bankelele)

That appeal then gestated and gave birth to this.

(Both the links are about the same event, clearly all it takes to erase reality is a pair of noise-canceling pokot girls singing in the garden)

Note: I just visited a coast hotel on official business, and while checking in, I killed one of those crooning “Jambo Bwana” singers at the reception (with my bare hands). Apparently, its not a crime anymore.

Expats and Assassins

I met a group of Jesus-expats (expats who peddle jesus) from my American mid-west town at Java House (local coffee+fast-food chain). They were all fat, munching cookies, and dressed in identical T-Shirts (with sweat patches around the armpits) that said:

“Mzungus deserve respect too!”

and on the back:

“We are humans with names too,
don’t throw stones at us,
and chase us for money.
May the lord be with you”

The odd thing about it was there was a cookie munching African-American guy wearing the same T-Shirt.

I am willing to sponsor an assassination, preferably something painful, like nailing their balls to a cross.

Death by killer robot / urine

So a man in australia, using plans downloaded from the internet, built a killer robot, that he then programmed to shot him in the head. A novel way to commit suicide.

In my home town, there was Hugo, the last of a long line of Jewish watch-makers. Hugo was depressed. When you saw him on the street, he walked, stepping only among the shadows, and responded only to his surname.

One day Hugo went on a skiing weekend to Pamporovo (in Bulgaria) and never returned. The ski-lift, of Soviet design, broke a hinge and crashed into a crevasse carrying away Hugo, the last watch-maker’s son into its cold, swirling depths.

Hugo’s mansion was taken over by City Hall (no will, no known relatives). While arranging his meager items for auction, the bailiffs of the council discovered a giant, reeking vat in the cellar. Next to it were a calendar and a letter.

The letter was a suicide note dated well into the future. The calendar had numbers scribbled against each date, and a crude summation formula to estimate when the vat would become full (a watch-maker is always a man of precision).

The mysterious purpose of all this was soon clear. Everyday, Hugo peed into the vat. He intended to pee into the vat until it became full. On that momentous day he intended to dive into the vat, and drown in his own urine.

Thus, a badly assembled hinge made by a Gulag inmate in some desolate corner of the Soviet Union prevented the eventful demise of Hugo. A death, in the end, relegated to just a trivial ski accident.

Airborne infection spreads

I am not dead. Just back from a long-winded matter of official business. Logistics is not a sedentary vocation you see.
So I switch on my computer, and the first email is from my friend from the Big Apple:

………..

Thought you would find this funny:

Clintonite stabs Obama supporter:
http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/years/2008/0225081ortiz1.html
“The Pennsylvania man allegedly stabbed his brother-in-law in the stomach after the pair quarreled about their respective support of Democratic presidential candidates Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton.”

So here its down to a skinny Raila vs a feminine-and-whiter Mbaki.
……….

Note: Kibaki = Mbaki, my friend is terrible with names.

A solution to ALL problems

The biggest mobile operator in Kenya is Safaricom. They run a monopoly of sorts (the government is in bed with them), and like all monopolies everywhere, quality of service is generally appalling. A couple of days ago they ran a system-upgrade, which immediately ran amok (the company will probably blame it on Bill Gates or some such untouchable entity). As a result, many customers could make free phone calls to every part of the world, while for others the phones went dead (Yeah, no better time to try that telephone sex number you always wanted to call).

The telephone outage made the headlines today. Lots of excited people talking in unison about the free phone calls they had made. Note the noun unison, a Latin derivative of the word unitas – which also is the root for the word “Unity”.

Maybe all the chaos and carnage could have been avoided if the government had placed an indefinite moratorium on telephone charges. Would anyone have picked up a panga if they knew there were free phone calls to be had ?